Lachrymose
by Destany Mitchell
Summary: The Tenth Doctor gets his reward. Missing scene from End of Time part 2. Written as a birthday present for my friend's boyfriend.


**A/N**: This fic was written as a (late) birthday present for my best friend's boyfriend. My "challenge" was a Doctor Who, End of Time, Regeneration fic including some classic companions. I have been marathon-ing the classic series and have reached up to Tom Baker's (4th) Doctor. Most facts surround those assistants but I tried to incorporate some facts I knew/read up on about later ones as well to make it well-rounded. Any mistakes are mine. I tried to remain as cannon as possible, and I'm proud of what I came up with. Please note: recognizable dialogue pulled right from End of Time II, but I purposely changed the ending of the scene with Wilf and 10. It just works better for the fic this way.

**Disclaimer:** As much as I'd love to lie and say I own everything...I can't. I don't. I wasn't even born (neither were my parents) when Doctor Who originally appeared on air. Plus, well, if I owned it/worked on it I wouldn't be writing fanfiction now would I? Nope. So, morale of the disclaimer? Don't sue. Nothing is mine and I'm making no claims to it (OK...maybe the general plot development of the story since the general idea wasn't mine to begin with).

* * *

**Lachrymose**

"…Anyway, I don't think this is goodbye, Wilf," The Time Lord stated, turning his head away to look off in the distance and Wilf watched as he swallowed hard, as if trying to maintain his composure. Didn't the other man know he didn't have to save face? A fellow soldier, a fellow old soul, can understand. There's no shame in crying. There's no shame in being afraid.

"What do you mean? When's that?" He asked instead, knowing the young (sort of) man before him was set in his ways. It didn't mean the old man was going to stop worrying about him. Oh, no. It only caused for more of it.

"Just…keep looking," The Doctor stated. Trying to be vague or distracted by something behind him, Wilf wasn't sure. He could see the wheels in the alien's brain turning, as if he were contemplating something and Wilf felt a shiver of fear come over him. "I'll be there." The Time Lord concluded, pulling Wilfred from his thoughts.

"Where are you going?"

The Time Lord was silent again. From the look on his face, Wilf couldn't tell if the silence was the other man trying to decide how, or how much, to tell him.

"To get my reward," The Time Lord stated, a glint appearing in his eyes and a determined look that made Wilf want to question the young (old) man further, but before he could do so, his daughter called and he turned his gaze away from the man in question.

When he turned around, he could hear the loud groan of the Tardis engines, the sound of the universe. Wilfred Mott stood staring where the Police Box once stood, puzzled and confused. He knew that look. He had seen it in friends, fellow soldiers, family, and comrades-in-arms over the years. It was the look of a dying man. He hadn't wanted the Doctor to go. He didn't want him to die alone. He was dying because of him and he truly hoped the Doctor was right. That he would see him again. That he, Wilfred Mott, former soldier, grandfather to the most brilliant woman in the universe (though she didn't remember it) and friend to the one man who could change that, vowed he would keep looking for him. He wouldn't stop until he knew. He only hoped that wherever the Doctor was going, he'd find some peace; that he'd find what he was looking for. The old man shivered, turning away from the empty street and went back inside his home with a heavy heart. He'd keep watching the stars. He'd keep watching in the distance for that silly old box and that impossible man.

* * *

As The Doctor entered his beloved ship, his home and only constant companion since he fled Gallifrey all those years ago, he flung his favorite (probably not for much longer) brown coat over a strut and approached the counsel. He caressed it, wondering vaguely what type of hands his successor would have. Would he have the bouncy energy of this regeneration? Would he be old and meticulous like his first? Hopefully not the multi-color disaster of his sixth, he thought with a shudder.

He shoved those thoughts from his mind as he felt the golden regeneration energy surging within him. He gasped and clenched his fist in response, trying to hold it back; to keep it at bay.

No, he wouldn't think about that now; the new man who'd saunter off in his place. He wasn't ready to go. He had too much to do. He _could_ be so much _more_. He could see the possibilities spreading before him. He could see what could have been, what might have been, and all the possibilities that this regeneration still had. No, he could hold off. The energy wasn't overwhelming. It could hold it off, painful as it was.

He didn't think as he flicked switches, set coordinates and removed the parking brake. He didn't have to. He didn't consciously know what he wanted. He knew he wanted the one thing none of his other regenerations have ever had. The one thing he always ran away from. He _wanted_ goodbye.

He could feel the Tardis questioning him. He could feel her concern, her comfort, her warnings. He shoved her away, not wanting to be caught in it. He didn't need his ship's warnings. He knew what could go wrong. He knew the score. He was the Time Lord Victorious. He could do as he wanted. He'd guaranteed enemies, friends, strangers, companions, people who he'd never met and those who never knew he existed had their lives. Their children. Their families. Their goodbyes. They had their happily-ever-after and damn it, for once, the universe could give him something back in return. Since the powers-that-be wouldn't give him it, he'd take it. He had the power. He had the means. And there was no one to stop him (they were all dead!).

The Tardis protested again at that thought and he responded by urging her to go faster. He try as he might, he could still feel the regeneration energy building within him. He'd never done this before. He'd never fought a regeneration; not even when the Time Lords forced him into one. He wondered morbidly how long he could last with this. A day? A week? Maybe months? He'd never tried it before. To his knowledge, no Time Lord had ever tried it. First time for everything, he thought bitterly.

With a violent shake that told him just what the Tardis thought about what he was doing, he turned from the counsel.

"Thank you," He whispered to his ship, knowing that for once, despite her protests, she followed his commands to the letter. He grabbed his coat from the strut and flung it back on as he walked hastily out of the Tardis and into a dark closet. He fumbled slightly to find a door handle, key pad, and genetic code reader, whatever. His hand touched something metal and it twisted open without assistance of his sonic.

He stepped out of the closet and snuck into the noisy bar. It was dim, loud, and filled with drinking humans and aliens of all species. He knew where he was. He knew _when_ he was. He even knew exactly what this _him_ was doing at this exact moment. He scanned the bar for his companions, the small band of humans he had begun to think of as a type of dysfunctional family.

His head turned as he heard a distinct laugh. Donna. He thought her name with a pang. His best friend robbed of her time with him as Jamie and Zoey were. He could change that. He could go back to the crucible, appear inside his Tardis, hide out until Davros gives the command to destroy it. He can stop her from touching his spare hand. He could save her. He could change her fate. He could end the life of his counterpart that never should have been created. He could have Rose. He could…

He shakes his head. No, he couldn't. Rose was happy in the parallel world. It was better this way. He couldn't change Rose, but he could still save Donna. It was in his power. He was dying anyway. It wasn't as if the Universe could punish him even more. He almost turns back to the Tardis, to change his past. To save Donna and her brilliant, brilliant mind, but he stops.

Davros would win.

He just didn't have the strength in him to do what his human double had accomplished. He couldn't destroy Davros and the Daleks. Not again. Not knowing that it would probably be all for nothing. _Again_.

It's a good thought, a happy one. But no, he can't. Too many variables to control. Too many time lines to manipulate to get him to this moment. And he didn't have the time to do it. He could feel it. As much as he doesn't want to admit it, the Time Lord's time was numbered. His time was ending. A new man would walk away, take his ship, his friends, his freedom and go parading around as if nothing had ever happened. He'd become a distant, fond memory to those before him right now, celebrating returning the 27 planets back to their proper places in time and space.

In that moment, he hates them.

He hates them all for how easily they move on.

He hates Susan for falling in love and marrying a human in 2164 Earth after a Dalek invasion. Zoe and Jamie for falling for the Time Lord's trickery (not really their fault, they were only human). Ian Chesterfield (or was it Chesterton? Chesterson?) and Barbara Wright for forcing him to teach them to pilot a Dalek time ship back to the 50's where he uprooted them in his panic of being found out (he knew what they did to Aliens back then. He was at Roswell). Romana for her sense of duty overriding her sense of adventure. Young Jo Grant, for leaving him for a scientist and an Amazonian adventure. The Time Lords for their passive ways; for the horrors they created during the Time War and for making him have to choose between his people, _his planet_, and the universe. Leela, Adric, K-9, Vicki, Steven, Dodo, Tegan, Nyssa, Peri, Melanie, the list went on for reasons always the same. Humans _need_ human lives. They eventually get worried, scared, fall in love, die, or feel a need to return to their lives. It's the same story over and over and they move on as his hearts break even more.

His eyes move to Sarah Jane, Mickey, Martha, Rose, Donna, with the Time Lord consciousness still inside her, Jack, Jackie, and…_him_. His double. He was thankful that his Time Lord self had stayed behind to check for breaches while his companions partied. He watched as they ordered drinks, talked, laughed, and traded stories. They _blogged_, discussed their lives, prattled on about anything and nothing and as he watched, he could imagine just how it'd be if the assistants of the past joined them. He could see Susan, as he remembered her best, young at 15, holding her portable radio to her ear, dancing. He could almost imagine her and Rose, who almost shared that passion to dance, on the floor, moving to the pulsating music that filled the bar. He could envision Barbara and Ian chiding Jack for his vulgar stories, mothering the rest of the group after a "hard mission". He could see Adric and Zoe questioning Donna, milking her for knowledge they would kill to have (if they only knew what it'd do to them). Jo Grant, stumbling and awkward, would try to understand all that was going on around her. She'd laugh and provide sources of entertainment. Jamie, in his Scottish-kilt, and old ideas about male and female relationships would be amazed and fascinated by the futuristic location of the bar, would try and be braver than he truly was and be appalled by the assertiveness of his recent companions. Donna would put the poor Scotsman in his place, he thought with a smile. Leela would be alert and waiting for the next threat to befall the mis-matched group. He could vision other people he'd met on his adventures, all of them, together, in that little bar in the 60th century, filling the place with laughter, fights (both physical and intellectual), stories, and love.

He lets that image stay in his mind as his eyes watch reality before him. He could make it happen. He knew exactly where in time he could pluck all those companions. He could even round up his other regenerations. Have a proper reunion. One last hurrah before he changed (died) again. He lets a bittersweet smile come to his lips as he realizes it could never be. The universe couldn't handle that. There was too much and too many paradoxes with that many people out of their times. As much as the Time Lord Victorious whispered it was possible, he knew the risks. He knew what would probably happen. That many people out of their correct times in one place…he shuddered and he didn't know if it was from the building regeneration energy or the thought. He wasn't even sure if the_ Reapers_ would be the worst that would happen.

No, he couldn't do that. But he could join this party before him. He could do the one thing his past self had been unable to do. He could have _fun_. He could laugh and enjoy what time he had left with these wonderful people. He took a step forward and his eyes caught Mickey and Martha as they looked at each other, smiles on their faces. And he felt it. He froze. He could feel time changing. He could feel the time lines converging. It wasn't a possibility. It was a certainty. He tilted his head as he watched the pair. The idiot and the doctor, an amused smile played on his lips. He let himself follow the time line; to view the wedding to see….the Sontaran. They'd hunt a Sontaran and they'd die. He felt the blow like it hit him. No. He could change it. It wasn't fixed. He could see the possibilities, the twists in their lines. He could intervene. He could let it continue. Let it grow. They didn't have to meet that fate in less than a year's time. He noted the date. He could do that much for the couple.

His eyes turned to Sarah Jane. He could see her time line easily; it stretched and grew, fading to her natural end. He frowned, seeing a spot of black in her line, knowing it was grief. He examined it further, seeing the death to her "son"; so senseless it was, just walking across the street, not paying attention to where he was going. It'd happen tomorrow afternoon, he noted with a pang. He could change it. He could save the boy before he ruined his mother's life. He could see Sarah's time line change with that little tweak. He could see it grow and prosper. It was a happier life. He owed her that much.

Jack. So much life. So much pain. He couldn't fix what was coming. He knew the 4-5-6 would return. He knew Jack would make the hardest decision of his life. He knew he could probably take that decision away. He could save that tea-boy he loved so much, but no. The events were fixed. Every little insignificant detail to that one event was fixed. He couldn't change it. Jack would return to the stars and he would…end up in a bar. The Time Lord smiled. It wasn't much, but he could fix him up with another lonely soul. The man he had in mind could help heal him. It wouldn't change the events, but at least Jack could get over it and move on with a bit of help. The Doctor wanted to make a promise to see the immortal more often, but he knew he couldn't. He didn't even know if his next regeneration would even acknowledge the anomaly. New man. New personality. New start. New life. New face. Jack didn't have a "doctor detector" anymore. Who knew what would happen?

Rose and his duplicate. He couldn't help them. He couldn't tear apart the universes to change their fates, but he saw he didn't need to. They'd do alright on their own. It'd be hard at first, but they'd get there. He could see the possibilities. The early deaths from working at parallel Torchwood. He could see the long lives filled with marriage, mortgages, carpets, and children. It was all possible and, he thought with a pang, they didn't need him or the Tardis. They had each other.

Donna. The pain flared up again and he couldn't hold back the gasp that escaped his lips. He tightened his fist and pushed away the energy. He couldn't let it go now. He had work to do. Donna, who could never remember him. Donna who would move on and get married and live her life like she would have if she'd never married Lance and ran into him. He could see her get married to a handsome man, a man who didn't have money. He could see her be happy but she'd always be "the best temp in Chiswick". The handsome young man Wilf had pointed out in the diner would never be much better. He felt sorrow for Donna, knowing how much more she could be, if only she could have that little push. He smiled sadly. He knew what kind of wedding present to give her. He'd make sure she was taken care of.

Decision made, dates noted, he watched his companions for another moment. He let himself see his old companions with them, remembered them as he remembered them, together. He indulged in the luxury he'd never let himself see before and turned from the scene and went back to his Tardis. He had things to do. He knew what his reward would be. He would make sure he was remembered the only way he knew how. He'd save their lives, be their protector, as always.

The man in the shadows.

The one who never got thanked.

But that was alright.

This time…this time, he _knew_ he'd be remembered.


End file.
